


eyes closed and fingers crossed

by eqonine



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Van Days/TTTYG Era, my take on the hole in the door story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqonine/pseuds/eqonine
Summary: what happens when lovesick joe follows one of pete's ridiculous advice and carves a hole in patrick's bedroom door?





	eyes closed and fingers crossed

**Author's Note:**

> my second joetrick fic!!! i did it!!! once again, this fic is for all my joe/joetrick hoes on twitter, and especially cami, who's obviously still the loml. she waited a long time for this one lmao. also a special thanks to matt who doesn't even like joetrick but helped me edit this fic late last night by yelling at me on google docs. what a man. okay enjoy now!!

Joe is not gay, okay? He’s not.

If Pete could stop implying every other sentence that he is, and even worse, that he’s in love with Patrick, it’d be real fucking nice.

So what if he’s in love with Patrick? It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not anyone’s business but his own.

Actually, it’s is all Patrick’s fault. How dare he look so pretty all the time with his porcelain skin that blushes so easily (honestly Patrick with a blush is too fucking much for Joe- he dies every time it happens), his blonde weirdly reddish hair (yeah, okay, Joe’s not an expert in hair colors, sue him, but Patrick’s hair color is pretty, alright?) peeking from under his dumbly endearing trucker hats (Joe has Pete to thank for that, but he’ll never do it- not in a thousand years), and above all his plush pink lips that always look so goddamn kissable (Joe definitely never fantasizes about kissing them. Ever).

So yes, it’s all Patrick’s fault. And Joe’s not gay, he just has a serious crush on his best friend who also happens to be a dude.

It happens to even the best of us.

Nobody needs to know about any of Joe’s feelings.

And that’s perfectly fine.

*

It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon when _it_ happens. The other guys are all at work and Joe is home alone, bored out of his mind.

He’s already watched TV, ate the last pack of ramen they had in their almost-empty pantry, practiced playing that cheap guitar, considered dyeing his hair blond again like he had two years prior, before deciding firmly against it, smoked some weed on the windowsill so Andy wouldn’t get angry, and tried his best to jerk off to thoughts of not-Patrick.

The keyword here is tried.

Having exhausted all forms of indoors entertainment known to a nineteen-year-old boy, Joe finds himself laying on their shitty couch, staring at the dirty-white ceiling like it holds the answers on how to make his day more exciting.

He follows the lines of the cracked plaster rethinking, despite himself, about yet another exhausting conversation he and Pete had about his feelings for Patrick that very morning.

Despite Joe denying having any romantics feelings for the singer for the umpteenth time, Pete, as always, ignored him completely and went on with his rambling. He had been very insistent on Joe making a move that Patrick wouldn’t be able to ignore, even if it wasn’t directly to his face. Something that would show him his interest, but without being too direct and screwing everything up either.

Joe had naturally rolled his eyes at the unrequited, and extremely vague, advice and let the crunching of his Lucky Charms (eaten without milk, thank you) drown out the noise of Pete’s overflowing mouth.

But now, hours later, after having felt like a lion trapped in a cage for the better part of the afternoon, Joe is starting to think that maybe Pete’s advice isn’t as ridiculous as he first thought. Not that he would _ever_ tell him, though.

“I could- I could write him a letter? Nah, fuck off dude, that’s too gay. It’s def not what Pete meant. I could… buy him flowers but pretend I don’t know who sent them? Oh c’mon, that’s so fucking dumb, I sound like a 13-year-old girl who only watches shitty rom-coms. Maybe I could…”

Joe’s monologue ends as he lets his eyes drift from the ceiling to the cabinet next to Patrick’s bedroom door. A mess of old records, useless school books and some mechanic tools sit on the dusty shelves, the latter catching Joe’s attention.

Tugging absentmindedly at his lip ring, Joe barely allows himself a few seconds to think his brand-new plan through before leaving the warmth of the creased sofa.

In a few strides, he’s facing the cabinet and raking carelessly through the mess, his mind set on finding one specific tool.

“Hell yes!” he murmurs proudly, a rusty screwdriver in hand.

His precious object in hand, he sits down in front of Patrick’s closed door, takes a deep breath in and starts executing his, let’s admit it, very stupid plan.

“The doors in this shithole really are as thin as Patrick’s patience on his best days,” snorts Joe, the mental image of Patrick’s tiny righteous fits of anger making him smile as he easily sinks the screwdriver in the wooden panel.

Joe has never claimed that following Pete’s ominous romantic advices were a particularly clever thing to do. But then again, Joe has also never claimed to be a particularly clever person either.

Which is why he ends up carving a hole just big enough to comfortably look in his best friend’s bedroom, as a clear, yet indirect, sign that he’s in love with him.

Obviously.

*

“Joe! Joe, I swear to God! Where are you, you asshole?!”

Jolted awake by the screaming, obviously pissed-off voice, Joe sits in his bed, blinking repeatedly to clear his bleary eyes. The book he had fallen asleep reading after carving Patrick’s door has barely touched the ground before his bedroom door slams open, revealing a visibly fuming Patrick with his face so red it could be steaming.

“Wha- what’s wrong Patrick?” he asks, his brain still foggy from sleeping in the middle of the afternoon.

“You fucking dumbass! Why did you carve a hole in my fucking door, huh?” shouts Patrick, his face getting dangerously close to Joe, still sitting on his bed.

Joe feels his brain going haywire. Yeah, why did he do that? What was he thinking? Why did he think that would help his case in any way at all? He wasn’t that high when he did it, wasn’t he? Could he use that as an excuse?

Joe nervously scrambles up to his feet, so he can at least benefit from his height. There’s nothing more terrifying than facing an angry Patrick sitting down, especially when you’re taller than him.

“Listen, I- I didn’t do it!” Joe is close to picking up his book on the floor and repeatedly hitting his head with it. That’s really the best excuse he could come up with?

“Well then, who the fuck was it? Because it sure as hell wasn’t there when I left and clearly you’ve been the only one at home all afternoon,” yells Patrick, hands waving around him to encompass the visibly empty apartment.

 _He sure has a point there_ , thinks Joe, heart beating furiously against his ribcage.

He can’t tell him the truth, not now. He’s not ready. Not to mention that Patrick is straight and that he’d probably get angry at Joe and the band would have to break up which would quite literally be the worst thing to ever happen to Joe. He’s worked so hard to make this dream band of his become a reality; he can’t ruin everything with stupid unrequited feelings, especially not when they’re so close to making it.

So, he swallows thickly around the knot in his throat and open his mouth to tell another lie.

“I didn’t do it. I was in my bedroom almost the whole time, but I did hear some noises coming from near your door. I think a mouse did it.”

“A mou- Joe do you think I’m stupid? Do I look like that much of an idiot to you? Jesus fuck,” Patrick laughs almost hysterically, ranking his hand through his stupidly soft hair, knocking his dumb hat to the side.

“No, I know you’re not! Listen, Trick, I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t do it, that’s all I can guarantee,” replies Joe. Lying to his best friend hurts. He hates doing it, but he hates having listened to Pete’s stupid advice more than anything. There’s nothing subtle or romantic about carving a hole in someone’s door to be able to look at them at any time. If anything, it’s just creepy and a violation of privacy. He’s a real life dumbass.

“I know you’re lying to me Joe. I don’t know why, but I’m gonna figure it out soon, you know I will. And if this is about you being gay…”

Joe almost chokes on air, struggling to keep his face as neutral as possible as to not give anything away, while dying on the inside.

“What the- who told you that? No, this has absolutely nothing to do with that! Why would me carving a hole in your door – which I _didn’t_ do – have anything to do with me being gay? Which I’m _not_! I’m not… gay” frantically rambles Joe, trying desperately to convince a dubious looking Patrick, his anger having drained to leave place to barely repressed curiosity, of his non-existent heterosexuality.

“Okay, sure, if you say so dude. Just know I won’t judge you if you are. That’d be real fucking stupid of me if I did given that…” Patrick trails off for a few seconds before refocusing on his answer. “Pete told me about a few of his suspicions regarding you, but if you say you’re not gay, well, it won’t be the first time Pete’s gotten someone’s sexuality wrong.”

Joe knows this is a lie. Pete is actually pretty good at targeting other people on the spectrum, something he once called his “bi detector.”

“Well, Pete _is_ wrong. I’m not gay!” repeated Joe, his words ringing false to his own ears, clearly sounding at least off to Patrick too.

“Okay, fine, whatever. But I’m still mad at you and I’m still gonna find out why you carved that hole,” Patrick sighs before leaving the room without a glance back at his defeated best friend.

Ignoring the way he feels his heart crumble in his chest, Joe lets himself fall face down on his bed, hitting his face repeatedly in the pillow.

Who knew such a small hole could create such a huge mess?

*

The following week goes by slowly and painfully.

Patrick had said the truth when he told Joe he was still mad at him. For the whole week, he addresses Joe only for the bare necessities like “Do we still have milk?” or “Can you go buy toilet paper? We ran out this morning.”. He barely looks at him and stays in the same room as him as little as humanly possible.

Joe understands. He didn’t expect Patrick to forgive him or move on that fast, especially when he blatantly lied to his face and still hasn’t apologized. That doesn’t stop him from feeling like the most pathetic of lovesick kicked puppy, though.

 _That’s what you get for doing such a dumb thing_ , his brain unhelpfully supplies everytime he longingly stares at Patrick’s door, wishing he could be on the other side of it doing something, anything at all, with the boy his heart beats for. But instead he’s only met with the taunting sight of his mistake hastily covered by a yellow post-it.

He thinks, sometimes, about poking a hole through the post-it and take a peak in Patrick’s room, just to see what he’s up to when he’s ignoring Joe like the plague, but his brain thankfully always regains a bit of good sense and stops him from making his case even worse.

He also ignores Pete’s pleas to let him talk to him for the whole week. Absolutely everything that happened to Joe that fateful day had been his fault. The hole in the door as well as Patrick questioning Joe’s sexuality.

Joe isn’t ready to forgive Pete for that one at all.

So he takes extra shifts at work, practices his guitar more than necessary and sleeps like shit. The kind of dreamless, semi-conscious sleep that is deeply unsatisfying and feels more like you ran a marathon than rested once you wake up.

The nagging feeling of having ruined everything tugs at his stomach and makes him feel sort of like throwing up every morning as soon as he opens his eyes.

He knows that if things keep going this way, if he and Patrick don’t make up in any sort of way, it’s over for Fall Out Boy, the tension between the four of them having already reached new highs this week alone.

That doesn’t help him knowing how to fix things, though.

The sixth morning after the incident, Joe drags himself out of bed, ignoring the sick gut feeling that won’t leave him and praying to all the gods he doesn’t believe in that he won’t run into two of his three bandmates just yet.

As his foot hits the warm form of someone laying on the floor in front of his door, Joe knows his prayers didn’t work. He tries his hardest to muffle his gasp of surprise as Pete (obviously) jumps to his feet.

Pocketing his Sidekick, Pete grabs Joe’s arm and starts dragging him to his own room.

“Leave me alone, Wentz! Would you just fucking-” angrily whispers-shouts Joe before the door closes behind himself.

“Why the fuck were you sleeping in front of my door, you fucker!” continues Joe in a slightly more normal tone.

“First off, I wasn’t sleeping,” _oh yeah, insomnia_ , remembers Joe. “And second, I had to speak to your dumb ass before you keep ruining everyone’s mood a second longer. I’m tired of you and Patrick avoiding each other like the plague and you barely talking to me. Andy’s starting to wonder what the fuck’s going on too,” finishes Pete, sitting down on the bed and tapping his foot faster than Joe can keep track of.

“And what if I don’t wanna talk to you?”

“You don’t have a fucking choice, Trohman. Sit your ass down,” commands Pete, his tone leaving no place for discussion. “Please,” he adds.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Joe lowers himself on the bed. He knows that, realistically, having this conversation with Pete is long overdue and probably the first step in fixing his mess and saving he and Patrick’s friendship as well as their band.

Doesn’t mean he’s not still pissed at Pete though.

Joe crosses his arms, a clear sign that he doesn’t want to be here and won’t be the first one to start this conversation.

“Man… why did you carve a hole in his door?” obviously this was gonna be Pete’s first question, sure to set Joe off instantly.

“Because you gave me that dumb advice of doing something to indirectly show him my interest! I didn’t know what the fuck you meant so I forgot about it until I got a little high while you were at work and it’s the first thing I came up with! I thought, y'know, it would be like a hole that I could watch him through at night or whatever because he looks so pretty when he sleeps and I could maybe jer-” a strong blush blooming on his face, Joe stops his tirade short. He’s already said way too much.

“Pretty when he sleeps? Jerking off to him? Why, Joseph, I thought you weren’t gay and didn’t feel anything for our dear friend Patrick.” Pete’s voice is dripping with amusement, his grin sharp in the morning light.

“You- you shut the fuck up! I’m not… _gay_! And I maybe have a _thing_ for Patrick, but I’m not…‘in love’. This is all your fault anyway!” A beat. “And stop fucking smiling like that or I’m quitting the band!”

A far too serious threat for the situation, Joe is aware, but Pete’s smirk slides off his face nonetheless. Joe’s heart is racing and his palms are sweaty as hell. This is way too many unwelcomed emotions to be experiencing at barely eight in the morning.

“Seriously, man. You know I’m bi. You know I’ve dated guys before. There’s nothing wrong with that. You can tell me about it. I just want to help, alright? I won’t tell Patrick if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Of course that’s what I’m worried about, dumbass! Patrick told me you told him what you think about my sexuality! What kind of ‘friend’ does that!?”

“The kind of friend who doesn’t know what’s going on, and who was just trying to seek help with that friend’s best friend. I just asked him a few questions, and I didn’t tell him anything about your feelings. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Joe angrily stands up, hand ranking through his short curls. Pete was making this so hard for him. Maybe being honest would be the best option here. Maybe opening up and – _ew_ – finally sharing his feelings is the solution here.  Why did it have to be to Pete out of all people though.

Refusing to meet Pete’s eyes, Joe let the words flow out of his mouth as fast as possible.

“Fine, fucking fine. You want the truth? Maybe I do have feelings for Patrick. Maybe like a lot. But I’m not gay that’s true! I think I’m more…bi, I guess. I don’t know! I’ve never felt that way for another guy before, especially not one of my best friends, so this is all new to me okay? We can’t all be Mr. Peter Wentz, super comfortable with who we are and with tons of chicks and dudes running over each other to just look at us, y'know.”

Joe sags back down on the bed, relief at finally having spoken those words out loud coursing through him like a drug. That maybe wasn’t so terrible after all.

Risking a tentative look at Pete, he finds his friend smiling softly at him, such an uncharacteristic look on his pretty face.

“I’m so glad you told me man. And I’m proud of you. This isn’t easy but I’m here to help if you need anything. Obviously, I already knew that you weren’t straight and had a blatantly obvious crush on Patrick but…”

“You really had to ruin this important moment for me by bragging like that huh?”

“You know me, dude. Always here to do just that,” replied Pete, his smile turning wolfish.

With another sigh, Joe rolls his eyes and makes a motion to stand up again. He’s already wasted enough time here and it’s clear that now that Pete has gotten the gossip he came for, he won’t be of anymore help.

But a firm hand stops him from going any further.

“I’m kidding, Joe. Don’t go, I really wanna help,” he pleads and sounds so weirdly sincere that Joe aborts his movement and stays.

“I don’t even know why you care so much but fine.”

“You’re my friend. And I also care about the survival of this band, so if it takes you and Patrick getting together to do that, you bet your ass I’ll help you do it,” replies Pete, chewing absentmindedly on his right thumb.

“So let’s start by how you can fix that damn hole in the door situation. And before you go any further,” Pete says putting up his hands in surrender at Joe’s sudden protest, “I do take part responsibility for it happening. I should’ve – ah – been more specific in my advice,” admits Pete to Joe’s disbelief. Pete Wentz, taking responsibility for something he messed up? A once in a lifetime situation.

“So what’s your brilliant new advice then? Spit it out!” demands Joe crossing his arms.

Pete smiles teasingly and Joe rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time. Yes, this conversation might potentially help him but god, at what cost.

*

Joe takes a deep shuddering breath as he walks up to the cursed door. The hole he carved in it has been strategically covered by a yellow post-it, a valiant attempt on Patrick’s part to regain his privacy.

Nervously clearing his throat, Joe plays back the conversation he and Pete had that very morning. It turned out to be much more helpful than Joe anticipated, not that he’d ever tell Pete just how much until he’s on his deathbed, and he found himself more ready to face Patrick than he had in the whole week.

Joe raises a hand with the skin around his fingernails bitten raw, his only way to ground yet distract himself at the same time during the whole day. He curls them in a loose fist, feeling almost like he’s moving in slow motion, and hits his knuckles twice on the thin panel.

He hears hurried noises inside and take a few steps back, unsure what’s going to happen next and if he wants to be there for it or not.

The door swings open, revealing a soft looking Patrick wrapped in a well worn woolly blanket, his hair mussed just perfectly, his glasses slightly askew on his face. His cheeks sport a faint blush that matches Joe’s.

“What do you want?” asks Patrick, voice snappy and cutting, his eyes meeting Joe’s for a brief second before fixing them above his head.

“Am I… bothering you?” replies Joe, all his made believe assurance from earlier disappearing like blown out smoke in front of him. This was another terrible idea and he shouldn’t have dumbly listened to Pete _again_.

“Yeah, kinda,” declares Patrick, crossing his arms behind his blanket.

“Listen, it won’t take long, I promise. I just want to talk. I miss-” Joe cuts himself off, pretending to need to clear his throat before finishing his embarrassing confession. It’s too soon in the conversation for that.

“Well maybe I don’t want to talk to you, have you thought about that? I’m still upset and you- you interrupted me while I was doing something important.”

“Alright, fine, I get it. I’m sorry to have bothered you and… for everything else too,” sighs Joe, turning around, defeated.

He knew this wasn’t going to work. Just going to talk to Patrick wasn’t the way to do it and obviously he was going to turn him away. Pete’s advices and pep-talk made him believe that Patrick would appreciate him coming to talk to him, but no. Obviously not.

“No, Joe,” says Patrick, arm reaching out to grab Joe’s, sending a shiver up his spine at the sudden contact. “Stay, I- I’ll listen to you.”

Joe lets himself be tugged into Patrick’s bedroom, his heart fluttering with renewed hope.

Patrick sits down on his unmade bed, motioning for Joe to sit down in his desk chair. Joe feels almost as if he’s about to be interrogated, which, all things considered, is probably the case.

He swallows nervously and knots his hands on his lap, biting his bottom lip.

“So?” impatiently prompts Patrick.

He’s dropped the blanket on his bed, revealing the old light blue t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. Joe almost wishes he would put the blanket back on because the way the shirt brings out his eyes is particularly distracting.

Shaking the thought out of his head, Joe takes a deep breath before jumping off the metaphorical cliff.

“So… yeah. Like I said before, I’m sorry. For everything. Especially for the huh- the hole in your door,” stutters Joe. Damn his lisp.

“Why did you do it? Why can’t you tell me the truth?”

“I… I-” Joe lets out a frustrated breath, raking his hand through his curls. “I wasn’t ready I guess but um- I am now.”

Patrick raises a quizzical eyebrow, leaning against his wall and making a hand motion asking Joe to keep going.

So Joe does.

He tells him about Pete’s constant suspicions and inquiries about his sexuality and his “crush” on Patrick. He tells him about the bad advices he kept throwing around him and how in a moment of high (in both senses of the word) boredness he decided to follow his latest vague one. He tells him about the hole in the door and how the severity of what he had done didn’t hit him until he, Patrick, barged into his room, fumming. He even tells him how hard the past week has been without his presence in his life, but keeps it to a friendzone level.

“So that’s it. I’m really sorry and I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ve learned my lesson believe me,” finishes Joe, a tiny smile on his lips, Patrick’s face still unreadable.

“Okay, that’s all good and nice but it still doesn’t explain _why_ you did it. The _real_ reason, I mean. You don’t expect me to believe you only followed Pete’s advice just because you were bored and not because of the reason he was giving you those advices in the first place, right?” inquires Patrick, arms crossed on his chest, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t going to take any bullshit any longer.

Joe feels his heart speed up all at once and he closes his eyes tight, hoping that when he would open them back up, Patrick would be gone and he’d wake up from the nightmare alone in his bed.

But when he does, and Patrick’s still sitting in front of him with the serious face he has whenever he and Pete fight about important band matters. Whenever that face comes out he usually just slowly backs into the nearest room and waits out the storm- it’s better to seek shelter than get hit by a stray flying chair or fist.

Joe knows he has to say it.

It might ruin them, it might ruin the band, but he has to say it. He’s lived with the secret long enough and Patrick deserves to know the truth. For better or for worse.

“Well… To be honest…” Joe shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Wow, this is much harder to say than I expect.”

“Just say it, dude. Whatever it is, I promise I won’t be upset,” reassures Patrick, uncrossing his arms and moving to sit at the end of his bed.

Joe lets out a nervous chuckle, sounding more like a wheeze than an actual laugh.

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.” He scratches the back of his neck, hunching over. “You’re not gonna be happy about it, believe me.”

“Try me. You won’t be disappointed, I’m sure,” says Patrick, standing up from his bed to walk to where Joe’s still sitting.

Joe’s eyes widen and back straightens rigidly as each of Patrick’s carefully calculated steps brings them dangerously closer together.

He feels his brain short circuit at the unexpectedness of the situation and his mouth opens by itself to nonsensically blurt out:

“I’m in gay- I’m love with you! I mean…”

Joe immediately cuts himself off, his stomach dropping to the floor and the blood draining from his face. Not only did he admit to being in love with Patrick, but he even stumbled through his own words doing so. At this point he’s ready for the impending fall out.  

In the best case scenario, Patrick would laugh it off and they’d punch each other’s shoulders and forget all about it. Problem solved. Worst case… fuck.

Having since reached the desk chair, Patrick grabs Joe by the front of his old Queen shirt and gives it a strong tug, making Joe rise up unsteadily on his feet, stunned by the speed of Patrick’s action.

“If you’re disappointed after this, I’m kicking you out of the fucking house,” Patrick whispers before putting his free hand on Joe’s jaw and leaning up just enough to press his outrageously pink lips onto Joe’s, his other fist still balled up tightly in Joe’s shirt.

Joe’s blood makes one sharp turn in his body, his breath getting caught in his throat as _Patrick’s_ _lips_ muffle his surprised gasp.

To his relief, his body catches up rather quickly with the action, and he presses back against Patrick’s soft lips and warm body simultaneously, as if his very life depends on it.

His hands flail only momentarily before he settles one around Patrick’s shoulders, the other tangling into his incredibly soft hair, the exact way he’s always wanted to. Hoped to. Dreamt to. It doesn’t feel real, and if this is some sick dream, he’s going to have some _words_ with whichever dream spirit is supposed to control this shit.

Joe’s heart is furiously hammering against his ribcage as Patrick slowly, nervously coaxes his lips open to deepen the kiss in a carefully passionate way. Nothing about kissing Patrick is familiar, yet it has an undeniable comfort about it. In all of his wildest fantasies, he never expected it to be this easy. This simple. But it was perfect nevertheless.

He can feel Patrick’s hand trembling on his jaw, making him bring up his hand from Patrick’s shoulder to hold it in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.

From that point on, it doesn’t take long for the kiss to become more heated, with every touch of Patrick’s hands, every swipe of Patrick’s tongue against his, sending electric shocks through every single one of Joe’s nerve endings and the heat pit low in his stomach.

Patrick, Joe discovers, has a way of kissing that should be illegal. He kisses with everything he has, which is a lot for such a small, hardly-experienced man. He’d take this over some shallow, but technical, makeout with some party-obsessed chick any day. The enthusiasm leads to some unexpected, but appreciated, actions.

Which includes tugging on his lip ring, for example.

The moment Patrick does it, Joe lets out the most embarrassingly loud moan he’s ever made in his life, so much so that he’s practically forced to turn his head to the side to breathe through the intense rush of dizzy want the unexpected action gave him.

It feels like an insane episode of Friends. He half expects a cameraman to pop out of nowhere and urgently rattle off the lines he is forgetting. He waits for the laugh track at his expense, but it never comes.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” murmurs Patrick against his cheek. “I knew it’d be hot.”

Joe lets out a desperate whine and tilts his head to chase after Patrick’s plush swollen lips, ready to get high on all these new wonderful sensations once more. Maybe he won’t even need pot to get high anymore. Just kidding. But still.

Patrick keeps his lips out of reach, though, and carefully avoids Joe’s blown out gaze.

“Before this gets lost in, y’know, translation- I’m kinda gay and in, erm, love with you, too,” he shyly announces, his focus anywhere but Joe’s eyes.

“Yeah, I kinda got that,” breathlessly replies Joe, a beaming smile pulling at his lips, soon covered by Patrick’s equally smiling sinful lips.

As Patrick pulls back him to his bed, all the while kissing his neck, which – wow – will definitely leave a hickey, Joe spares a second of thought to thank Pete for his dumb ideas. They miraculously, strangely, worked for once.

Joe is not straight, okay? He’s not.

 

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer, just in case: i don't ship joe and patrick irl, i fully love and respect them and their wives and would never ever bring the topic of joetrick up to them, this is just for personal fun and enjoyment.
> 
> comments, kudos and bookmarks are appreciated!
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/IgbtpiIots) and on [tumblr](https://tumblr.com/josephstrohman) for more fob and bands related bs


End file.
